sirenspull | Entries tagged with !: john marcone

[ The NV’s feed is a little shaky, considering Harry is trying to make a record of his exploits single-handedly while the other hand is busy hefting a rather large, rather expensive looking bottle of foreign whiskey. Looks like some guys make out with all the luck, especially after that week long leap into the past.

Beyond his hand and the bottle, there is the battered door of his (and John’s) newly bought, somewhat-renovated house. There is a rickety porch, a patched doorframe, and some obnoxiously orange paint. The feed focuses on all of that for a moment, and then the image is joined by the sound of his voice as it comes filtering through. ]

-- I mean, they christen boats, why not with a house? What am I going to call you? The Good Ship Marmalade? Das Orange Haus? Stumble Inn? Ooh, I like that one. Stumble Inn. I dub thee: Stumble Inn--! [ The NV gives a rather excitable wiggle as Harry cocks his other arm back, clearly prepared to smash the bottle all over the front door. What a loss of good alcohol.

Which, apparently, is just what his roommate thinks. In a matter of moments, the slight wiggle of the NV turns into a jarring motion, a tangle of limbs and the sudden appearance of another figure. Harry has to clamber to his feet, and the NV does a very good impression of Cloverfield as he does so. John’s voice (muted, but clearly irritated) rises over Harry’s aimless protests. The NV rounds on him in turn (je accuse!), after John has rescued the poor bottle of whiskey from a meaningless fate and is currently gingerly cradling it in his hands. Thank god someone has sense. ]

-- waste of good whiskey that we could be drinking instead.

Gee, I honestly didn’t know you were such a connoisseur.

This is a single-malt Highland Park imported onto the island and you want to smash it into the door?

I’m sorry, is this against the rules and bylaws of the country club? Is it giving you a case of the vapors?

I miss the days when I was allowed to shoot you.

Scumbag.

Firestarter. And also, you've sent your personal recording to the Network.

[ It’s John who reaches out and appropriates Harry’s NV, looking sternly into the camera. He looks very put-together for a man who just bodily tackled a six-foot-nine wizard. ] I apologize for my associate’s brash actions. I won’t leave him in possession of good alcohol again. Have a good evening, all.

[[OOC: As usual, blue is Harry, green is John and they'll be answering posts separately.]]

freeholding

[Morning on the island. John is above all things calm and excellent in a crisis. He's on his motorcycle yet again, and its rumble can be heard, along with sirens and what might be a riot.]

One would think being a vanilla mortal were the end of the world, the way some people are acting. As though extrahuman abilities were needed to achieve remarkable things. Excuse me--

[The motorcycle idles and there is a ka-chack sound that some people might recognize as a shotgun.]

[Directed away from the NV,] One more step and you'll end up among the hundreds waiting to get into the ER. Given how overstretched this island now is, do you want to entrust your life to triage?

[The sound on the NV blows out when a shotgun blast goes off nearby.] That's your only warning.

... Good choice.

[The engine noise picks up as John drives away.]

A note: if anyone is in the market for a motorcycle, the green R60 isn't available. The next person to ask will not get a patient talk-down.

[A pause.]

Stay indoors if you can, ladies and gentlemen. It's only morning, but I can tell already the situation is going to deteriorate further.

freeholding

[To say that John sounds weary is an understatement. It's been a long few days since his roommate decided to pick a fight with Castiel and found himself hideously outmatched. Keeping Dresden alive without the aid of a hospital has been difficult.]

I have been too busy to watch the network-- has someone put down the insane self-styled god yet? I ask merely out of curiosity.

... There are times when I miss the days when I didn't have to ask questions like that. [Oh, to go back to the years when all he had to do was topple the Chicago mob and install himself at the top. Simpler times.]

[A small sigh. Someone needs a nap, not that he will admit it.]

A follow-up: What besides money is currency on this island? For those who need favors and such?

freeholding

[There is the rumble of an engine in the background and some wind distortion, but John's voice is very clear. The benefits of training your voice to be as measured and newscaster-bland as possible.]

You spend enough time around certain elements and you get a sense for things. That feeling of 'something wicked this way comes.' Though a friend of mine is always quick to point out that in context, the hero of that story was the something in question and blind to it.

I tend to have a better track record than that, though. [Not that he isn't wicked, mind. But he's not exactly in the hero role anyway. Christ, and he can almost hear Nathan ranting about literary theory and storytelling conventions and et cetera.]

Anyway. Does anyone know where a concerned citizen might gain access to some firepower? Something better than what the pawn shops have on offer.

[With an ounce of humor:] It is the shopping season, after all.

freeholding

[Two men have settled into one of the larger rooms of the Tower. One is tall and lean and looks vaguely untrustworthy, like someone you wouldn't want to share a cab with. He's got a mean-looking scar through the right side of his face, a silver pentacle around his neck, and a dramatic black leather duster hanging off his frame. He's the one seated on the floor, a circle drawn around him (was that done in chalk?) on the lumpy carpet.

The other man is far more respectable looking, but something about him would incite nervousness and distrust if you met him in person. He's older, with greying hair and eyes the color of dead grass. Dressed like a businessman in tailored Givenchy and silver cufflinks, there is nonetheless the sense of a prowling panther as he paces slowly around the outside of the circle.]

Are you ready? [says the man in the suit.]

[The one in the circle opens an eye to glare at his companion.] Are you interrupting a wizard when he's wizarding?

We're on a time table, Dresden.

A what? [The one by the name of "Dresden" squints at the other man like he's in awe of his existence.] I don't care how OCD you are, you don't have a time table yet.

Near and present danger.

Hell's bells, fine. Operation Stress-test commencing in five... four... [His voice trails off as he closes his eyes again, focusing before:] Hexus.

[There's a quick series of pops as all the lights burst into showers of sparks, power sockets go up smoke, and the NV's feed promptly goes dead.]

[[OOC: Blue font is Harry, Green font is John and they'll be replying separately to your comments!

If you'd like to play along, Harry just hexed the electrical things (lights, AC units, TVs, anything really) in their room, and the effect may spread to anyone nearby in the Tower apartments. Feel free to suddenly have a freezing cold shower or have your radio cut out, etc.]]